


The True Picture

by merry_amelie



Series: Academic Arcadia [72]
Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: Alternate Reality, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-30
Updated: 2006-03-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 04:02:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1843615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merry_amelie/pseuds/merry_amelie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Photographic memories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The True Picture

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback: Is treasured at merryamelie@aol.com (or leave a comment).
> 
> Disclaimer: Mr. Lucas owns everything Star Wars. I'm not making any money.
> 
> To Alex, Ula, and Nerowill, my friends and betas extraordinaire.

Ian cradled the old photograph in his right hand. 'Aug78' was imprinted on the bottom of its Kodak paper, curling at the edges, with remnants of yellowed tape at the corners. Quinn had thrown it away in a pile of discards, one of many such mounds on the eve of their move. Luckily, Ian had happened along to the rescue before the looming lawn and leaf bag could swallow another memento. He'd hastily shoved it into his desk drawer, hoping he hadn't missed anything else of value.

Ian was in his bedroom office, a stack of papers with his name on them waiting to be graded. But he couldn't stop looking at Quinn. Seven years old and a fine little fellow, his fair hair had bleached in the sun, blond streaks framing his high forehead and strong cheekbones. Ian loved these early pictures, before it had darkened to chestnut with adolescence.

Quinn was standing outside a brick apartment building, wearing a white t-shirt over tan shorts. Even then, you could tell he'd be a strapping lad by the clean line of his long limbs. The summer light crinkled his eyes, illuminating his face with a golden glow. Strength, compassion, and intelligence shone from every pore. The blue of his eyes had been faithfully recorded, drawing Ian into the photo and erasing the eighteen year gap. He'd memorized their unique color the first time he'd seen him standing over him on the train. The boy seemed to look at Ian across the intervening years, as if they could connect. Perhaps they could.

Though Quinn was grinning in accomplishment, his underlying seriousness came through to tug at Ian. Oh, how he wished that somehow they could have met earlier. He would have done his best to lighten Quinn's mood, just as the sun had his hair. But he hadn't even been born when the photo was taken.

Quinn cradled the model of an X-wing in his right hand. Ian suspected that this was why Quinn had thrown away the picture. The needle nose of the starship was inexpertly painted in greyish white with red markings. Smudging was faintly visible along the joins of the pieces, some of which were not correctly aligned. Quinn must have worked on it by himself, without his father's help. Ian could only hope that Quinn had preferred it that way, his independent nature asserting itself even then.

He remembered Quinn saying that he had often been left alone with a sitter as a child, due to the demands of his parents' careers. He'd made it easy for them by his maturity, height and breadth adding years to his apparent age as well. Quinn had told Ian that he'd borne a faint resentment of conferences for decades, until the pivotal symposium that had brought them together.

When Ian had built R2-D2, his dad and Monty had drifted in and out of the garage, always there to hold a tricky piece in place for gluing, bringing him masking tape as a straight edge for painting. His memories of assembling the little droid were sweet, a lovely balance of his own effort mixed with indulgent guidance from more experienced hands.

Even as adults, the pattern remained -- loving support from the Prentices versus an unbreachable distance created by both the Mastersons and Quinn. Ian sighed as he gazed at the boy who'd grown up to be his husband.

Quinn came in to ask what Ian wanted for dinner, and saw the photo. Voice low with emotion, Quinn said, "Couldn't let it go, lad?" Ian had rescued more than the picture, Quinn thought with sudden clarity. 

"How could I throw this little face away?" Ian answered with a grin. He reached for Quinn's hand to entwine their fingers. "I had an X-wing too, but Monty and I totaled it when we were playing on the patio."

Quinn looked more closely at the picture. "I saved a snapshot of a better model that I built a few years later."

"Good. I'd like to see it. But we're keeping this one too."

"Yes, lad." Quinn's eyes crinkled just as they had in the photo. "Speaking of relics, I found a box of pasta that somehow snuck in from Landowe. Looks mummified to me."

"Ah, the Gaia Organic Shells, right?" At Quinn's nod, Ian continued. "Y'know, I wouldn't be surprised if we bought it in New Jersey our first year together. You were going through that gluten-free phase, remember?"

Quinn chuckled. "Guilty as charged. No wonder we never ate it."

Ian snorted. "And we never will. _That_ belongs in the trash. How 'bout taking me out to dinner instead?"

"My pleasure." Quinn pulled Ian up easily, with a kiss to his forehead and one to his lips. They left in a burst of laughter.

Quinn's photo smiled on his desk, grin widening now, perhaps a quirk of the light.


End file.
